The first encounter with Asta Bria’s new single, “Dragonfly,” is a calculated disorientation. For an artist who once cozied up to funk’s leisurely sway, this is a sharp turn onto a rain-slicked digital highway. The song’s intent for the dance floor is immediately apparent; a commanding, four-to-the-floor beat acts as a gravitational field, pinning you to the present moment. But hovering just above it are Bria’s vocals—delicate, cool, and almost clinical in their clarity. The combination hits the senses like the smell of ozone after a lightning strike on hot asphalt; one part electric, one part earthy.
This is a hypnotic state, for sure, but liberation here isn’t simple confetti and champagne. The track lives in its contradictions. Bria’s lyrics map out a complex metamorphosis fueled by another person, a shedding of old skins that leaves the narrator feeling both powerfully leonine and untethered, floating. It captures that strange, fizzy vertigo of profound change—the simultaneous sensation of being ten feet tall and completely weightless.
It’s this duality that makes “Dragonfly” so fascinating. It’s a summer anthem for introverts, a club track for the overthinkers. We are asked to dance with abandon to a song that explores a state of being so vulnerable it borders on mysterious. It sheds regret and apology, leaving not a history but a shimmering, iridescent new form. The song builds a palace of sound and then reminds you that you are its sole, haunted, and glorious occupant.
It leaves you wondering, is this freedom a destination, or is the relentless, beautiful transformation itself the entire point?
